Topic: The Adventures of Kith, the Cat, and the Khatun
Subject: Elsewhere in the city
That his quest had brought him into Sendria wasn’t truly much of a surprise; scourges like the one Mosic sought to dispel too often found their origins or endings in dark places, after all. The fact that his searching had brought him to Davnor, the very heart of this darkest of nations, troubled him a bit more than he might have liked. For one thing, it made him wonder at the power that had brought the curse forth to begin with and, also, to question his own ability to bring it to an end. For another, he wondered if his ending up here might have nothing to do with the curse, at all, but, instead, Falloes had brought him here with simpler designs. If there was any place on all of Antaron wherein one might find the hopeless, lost, and needy, Davnor was surely that place. Whatever it was that had led him here, though, be it mission or magnanimity, Mosic Townes was grateful, at least, that he hadn’t come upon Davnor’s gates in the dark hours of the night. He much preferred to get his first true feel for the place with the sun on his shoulders and chasing the shadows from the city’s darker corners before he found himself needing to delve too deeply into them.
“Before I delve much into that, though,” the diminutive cleric of Falloes said in answer to the rumbling of his stomach, “I’d like to dig into a nice porridge and a pint.”
The day before, Mosic had shared what was left of his trail rations (and a goodly portion of his purse) with a travelling family who had depleted their own supplies. It had been since that mid-afternoon meeting that he’d had anything to put in his belly aside from the now stale water that filled his wineskin. It was early, now, and the streets of Davnor had yet to start bustling save for the few beggars and urchins who stirred from their alley-hidden hovels and the rather pronounced presence of the city-guards patrols. The Cid couldn’t help but wonder at the need for so many sentries on the streets at this hour and, in fact, had asked a pair of them about what troubles might plague the place…
“None o’ yer concern, Pick,” had been the curt reply, “Ever’thin’s under control. Go on ‘bout yer day.”
“Blessings of The Helping Hand upon you, then,” Mosic had replied, the twin pony-tails sprouting from the crown of his head bobbing as he nodded at them. “I wonder, though, if you might point a weary traveler in the direction of a…”
The patrol had put their backs to him before he could finish his inquiry as to an inn or tavern, though, and were far enough down the street that, even if he had finished, they’d likely not have heard. Or even bothered with and answer if they had. So, with a shrug of his shoulders and a jaunty tune whistling across his lips, the cleric of Falloes turned back to his course and strolled along the thoroughfare in search of a place to eat or, at the very least, to sit for a while, sheltered from the cool morning air. He hadn’t made it far when a rasping cough drew his eyes to the mouth of a narrow alleyway. Huddled there, in a small nook created by the meeting of chimney-stone and clapboard walls, was an old woman wrapped in threadbare blankets, her tired, rheumy eyes peering blatantly in his direction.
“I could use the blessin’s of a helpin’ hand,” the woman croaked, her arthritic fingers slipping from the folds of her blankets to beckon the young cleric closer, “For the right blessin’, I’d even tell ye where ta find what ye seek.”
“And what is it you think I seek, mother?” Mosic smiled softly, his gray eyes brightening to a pale blue as he stepped from the street and into the alleys mouth.
“Same’s the rest of us, minister,” the old woman coughed, “A warm place ta rest yer bones and answers ta the why of things.”
“Sage wisdom, mother,” Mosic beamed, his small hand reaching out to close around her gnarled one. “What can you tell me of the why?”
“I suppose,” the wretched woman wheezed, “that all depends on the blessin’, doesn’t it?”
“I suppose it does,” Mosic chuckled lightly as the old woman’s joints crackled in the clasp of his hand, “What blessing might be worth such answers, then?”
“Coin enough for a meal,” the crone suggested, a cough rattling her lungs, “and, maybe, that cloak of yers ta keep off the cold?”
The little priest’s smile never faltered and, nodding, he slipped his hand gently from hers. “The coin is easily enough provided by The Helping Hand, mother,” he said, his fingers dipping into the purse lashed to his belt, “but I’m afraid I must keep the cloak. I do have a rather new blanket in my pack, though, if that would do? It’s of the finest wool to be found in Ertain.”
Wracked again by a fit of coughing, the old woman simply nodded her assent. Mosic pressed the three silver coins he’d pinched from his purse into her bony hand and, then, shrugged his pack from his shoulders, failing to catch the surprise in the crone’s eyes as she gawked at his offering. The little Cid produced a thick woolen over-blanket from his pack, then, and, with a smile, unrolled the thing and draped it around the woman’s shoulders. It was only then that Mosic took note of the astonishment that shone even from behind the clouds in her eyes. “Are you all right, mother?”
“I… Ye… err,” the woman croaked, “I’d never hoped fer such a generous blessin’, minister… I… Yer vera generous.”
“The things one does for oneself are gone when they are gone, mother,” Mosic smiled warmly, his little hands resting on the crone’s softly hitching shoulders, “but the things one does for others remain as one’s legacy…”
Whether it was the warmth of the blanket, the heat from the little cleric’s hands, or the gentle wisdom of his words that seeped into her, just then, the woman couldn’t be sure. Whatever the source, though, the little priest’s attentions seemed to flow through her in that moment, easing the ache in her joints, clearing the clouds from her eyes, and filling her lungs with air cleaner than she had tasted in quite some time.
“…Blessings of The Helping Hand upon you, mother,” Mosic grinned, his hands falling away from her shoulders.
“Blessin’s of all th’ gods on you, little man,” the woman wept softly as the Cid closed and reshouldered his pack.
“Thank you,” Mosic beamed happily, his eyes finding their way back to the woman’s much healthier looking face. “Now, if I recall, you had said something about answers?”
“Yes. Any answers ye like, dear boy,” the woman nodded, her hand nimbly disappearing into the folds of her blankets to secret away the coin that would feed her for days, then reappearing to wipe joyful tears from her cheeks, “Ask away.”
Mosic asked, first, about the need for so many guards on the streets and the woman regaled him with a tale about the dead swarming the city the night before. The things had been driven back to whence they came, she said, but, this being Sendria, she couldn’t be sure for just how long that might last… and, apparently, neither could the city watch. The tale, as told from her perspective, was both terrifying and fascinating and, in her telling of it, Mosic found a foothold in the fact that he was, likely, on the proper path to locating the end of the curse.
“Skeletons, you say?”
“Aye,” the woman nodded, “saw them with my own eyes. Them and worse! Seen a right proper monster, too. All soaked in blood and covered in fur and fang. If it’s horrors ye seek, minister, yer in the right place.”
“So it sounds,” Mosic nodded, “but I’ll leave that seeking for later, I think. What I’d like, now, is a place to find my own meal and, as you said, warm my bones.”
“Of course,” the woman nodded, leaning over to peer around the corner and gesture up the street, “Continue on the way ye were goin’, about a block or two, then ye’ll come ta a lane goes off ta the left. A door or two down that way, ye’ll find a place called The Countess and Cockatrice that’ oughta suit yer needs. Probably pullin’ the loaves from their ovens, now.”
“My thanks, again, mother,” Mosic nodded, still smiling, as he reached a hand out to her, once again, “Would you care to join me for breakfast?”
Posted on 2019-10-22 at 10:10:26.
Edited on 2019-10-22 at 10:36:46 by Eol Fefalas
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